


The Silent Sound of Loneliness (Wants to Follow me to Bed)

by icabyppup



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: How Do I Tag, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Insomnia, My First Work in This Fandom, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 03:11:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18357413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icabyppup/pseuds/icabyppup
Summary: Peter's insomnia starts to catch up to him.





	The Silent Sound of Loneliness (Wants to Follow me to Bed)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RookieReporterZ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RookieReporterZ/gifts), [CaraIsTrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaraIsTrash/gifts).



> This story is for my amazing friends and editing team RookieReporterZ and CaraIsTrash!! Thank you guys for everything!!!
> 
> Title from "The Lonely" by Christina Perri
> 
> I hope you like it.   
> It's my first fanfic so please let me know how I did :)

Peter was so tired.

Forty seven hours without sleep could do that to a person, he supposed, but it was still irritating as all hell. Especially in the middle of biology. His maybe-probably-important notes that may or may not be essential to his next test taunted him from the desk, but as soon as he tried to concentrate they ran away from his gaze, bunching up in the margins of the paper in an effort to make his life hell.

He blinked a couple times and rubbed his eyes.

The words didn’t cooperate any more than before.

He sighed heavily as the school bell clanged – a staccato rhythm that clapped its way into his brain through his temples. As he walked the halls, it took most of what he had to remain upright. As soon as his rusty combination lock was stowed safely on the top shelf, he buried his face in his locker in an effort to make everything just stop.

God, he was so tired.

What he wouldn’t give to just turn off his brain for a bit. To let go of the thoughts and the feelings and the pictures behind his eyelids that played nonstop, like a movie on repeat that had no off button. Hell, he was getting so desperate that if he was offered an anaesthetic, he’d take it. Anything just to let the world melt away and for the velveteen embrace of sleep to hold him once more.

Hours and hours later, at two am with his thoughts blowing through his brain like footpath litter caught in a whirly, he wished for the long and arduous day to come back. Sure, school was horrible when you felt like the walking dead. But these long and empty hours were so much worse. The shadows that were once his friends would every night encase his mind in a steel cage and trap his consciousness there with no escape. A soul-shredding loneliness would creep in soon after, rooting him to the mattress as tears trickled down his cheeks.

No matter how hard Peter tried, that horrible, horrible loneliness always got him in the end.

...

Peter watched the sun rise through his bedroom window. This was always the best part of the night, watching molten gold creep over his city, bringing warmth and light that banished the hurt away for another precious 12 hours.

Sometimes in the mornings, he’d climb out the window and sit on the roof to await the sunlight. Then, as the glorious early-morning light caressed his face, he would bask in the feeling of safety and love.

It was strange, how much this insomnia had shaped him. Once an uncomplaining night owl, Peter had come to dread the crepuscular hours - and this frustrated him to no end. He was a teenager, and a smart one at that. He had no reason to fear the dark for his lack of sleep any more than a child has reason to fear the dark for monsters.

Inversely, he loved the day. He adored it, and clung to every ephemeral second that he had – despite being miserable because he was so damn tired. It was a defeating cycle, but he held on.

Peter’s phone buzzed incessantly from its spot on the radiator. He tore his gaze away from the sunrise, intending only to silence it but was slightly stunned to see that the person disturbing him was none other than Tony Stark.

His heart swelled. Texts from his mentor/father figure weren’t a rare occurrence, but every message filled him with warmth and made him feel appreciated. Wanted, even.

Like, Tony freaking Stark wanted him to stay over at the tower tonight! No matter how many times he slept over (He had a room!! In Stark Tower!!) he still marvelled at how close they’d become.

Family, his brain supplied, and he blushed at the thought.

...

“Hey Pete, you wanna…” Tony trailed off as he squinted at Peter. “Jesus kid, you look like you’ve been dragged through hell backwards.”

Peter just rolled his eyes, “I’m fine, Mr Stark, seriously. Just a little tired.”

“Yeah kid, I can see that. I’m sure you could stow whatever essay you’ve been up writing in those bags under your eyes.”

Peter shifted on his feet, breaking eye contact with his mentor. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but he just couldn’t escape the feeling of guilt that descended on him like a plague. He didn’t want Mr Stark to know, or to worry.

So he just smiled faintly (those pasted-on smiles never worked – Tony Stark had, after all, invented them) and agreed. That English essay was such a pain.

He actually thought he’d get away with it. After all, it wasn’t uncommon for him to be up into the early hours of the morning doing homework. But an hour or two later, when he started shaking of all things, his mentor became suspicious.

“Hey, Pete. You okay?”

“Yea-yeah. Fine, Mr Stark,” at the sight of his mentor’s unconvinced stare, he tacked on a thoroughly unconvincing, “really.” At the end.

“Yeah, that’s an obvious lie.”

In hindsight, Peter could see how misguided it was to think he could get away with hiding it. He really should’ve realised that Tony Stark, king of insomnia, would recognise the signs.

“C’mere, Pete,” his mentor patted the bench space next to him. With a sigh, he moved over and sat next to his childhood idol.

“Well, you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

Peter kept his gaze firmly on the floor.

He wanted to open up, to just let the words pour out, consequences be damned. But he held back. He didn’t want to worry his mentor, but most of all he was embarrassed that such a little thing could get to him so much. He was Spiderman, for God’s sake. And plenty of people didn’t sleep through the night.

He was determined to get through this on his own, for everyone’s sake.

At least he was, until Tony knelt down in front of him.

“Peter, please,” and wow, Mr Stark cared that much? He sounded so… worried.

“Just tell me what’s wrong.”

And the ineffable emotion in his mentor’s voice cracked his resolve right down the middle.

He fell apart.

Everything came pouring out.

The hurt and the pain, the endless lonely hours just staring at the top of his bunk and the tiredness that was beaten into his bones, so deep he didn’t ever think he’d shake it. It washed through him, sapping his energy.

Taking its final toll.

Freeing him as he held on for the ride.

All the while, safe in the arms of the one and only Tony Stark.


End file.
